


Emmeline

by LunaStellaCat



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-08 16:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11650353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaStellaCat/pseuds/LunaStellaCat
Summary: Forty-two words cover the story of Emmeline  Vance.  This is a tale about her.





	1. Chapter 1

Emmeline needed a moment to escape. She stepped into the large room beside Nicolas Flamel’s laboratory. The place stood as a dancing school once upon a time, so the wooden floors went throughout the place. It stayed outside the sister city of Dover. Calais, a shipping port, thrived with life and did not always reek of fish, despite popular opinion, for a mariner’s soul lived here. People either fled to or from England or France at this point; they played an interesting game when they crossed a border, and she loved getting a moment to catch her breath. 

She wrapped her blonde hair in a loose hairstyle and fingered the comfortable, light fabric of her blue dress. Muggle clothing suited her because it felt less constricting than wizard’s robes, and she wanted to fit into the crowd. Emmeline went down this road a handful of times, for she went through her sixth pregnancy in eight years. Some days she didn’t understand why she still fought for her marriage. What did it matter in the end? She placed her hand on a bar, wondering why Nicolas left this as the last room to renovate. He lived a quiet life in Dover across the way, though this didn’t mean he no longer lived. Emmeline placed one foot behind the other, remembering her steps, and ignored the mirrored wall. The alchemist owned properties, a lot of them, despite the fact he possessed infinite life and wealth. 

She jumped, surprised when the tall, old man placed a hand on her back and took a proper stance. She had a Paris childhood, a privileged upbringing, so Albus Dumbledore was never her teacher in the strictest sense; he never abandoned them as a family friend. No sound from a wireless filled the room. He wore midnight blue robes, smiling at her as they fell into a repetitive motion: step, side, close, and again, step, side, close. 

“You probably never had a dance partner like this,” she said, self-conscious about her lack of a figure. 

“Your grandmother. She found this helpful with Alexander, and Louis … and Alice, I believe.” Dumbledore spun her around and smiled when she laughed a little. He placed his hand on her waist again. He’d been friends with Jacqueline Luc Marceau, Emmeline’s maternal grandmother, since the start of the twentieth century. He considered Jacqueline his other half; he handed Nicolas a homeless girl as an apprentice. The two weren't romantically involved, of course, yet they loved each other like brother and sister. Emmeline nodded, guessing this is why Nicolas kept the old atmosphere of the large room. “How are you feeling?” 

“Really, really pregnant,” said Emmeline, sighing when he continued the waltz. 

Emmeline wanted to wrap her hands around her husband's neck and ask him to make love to her in the same moment, so life confused her. She went with the truth and wondered if Gideon felt the same way. As a negotiator, he took any and all assignments in Spain, France, and the United Kingdom. He left at the drop of a conical hat. The midwife said last week. She wanted the thing out and she’d come to dread the phrase “any day now” because this parasite sucked the life out of her. 

“This isn't about me.” Jacqueline lay in a bed in one of the nearby bedrooms and circled the drain. Emmeline’s apron got tossed on the floor when she stormed away from Nicolas. At six hundred fifty-something, the renowned alchemist wasn't the kindest of men, and he’d reduced her to tears over a shattered alembic. “I can't work with him.” 

“Jacqueline had six children, and Nicolas has no time for feelings.” The professor lowered her hand and suggested they get some fresh air. Emmeline jerked her head towards the open door. “She’s still here.” 

They stepped out of the building. Emmeline kept her last name of Marceau because it offered her roots to a family name. Albus Dumbledore often got mistaken as her grandfather by strangers and passersby, especially Muggles, and he took it in his stride as they strode into the fish market. He shrugged off his traveling cloak and draped it over her shoulders. She felt like an alchemical furnace. It was hours after the new year. Funnily enough, people went out of their way for pregnant women. A vendor, a fisherman’s wife, waved her over and offered them a basket of croissants. Emmeline offered her money, seven Sickles, and got waved away for she took no money. Emmeline left the money and purchased a jar of raspberry jam from another vender. 

Professor Dumbledore waved at a young man who caught a large fish from a fish monger. As the thing practically devoured him, he couldn't return the gesture. Emmeline waited for the boy to fall down, but he didn't, and the people nearby clapped. The boy rushed down the street as fast as his feet could carry him to deliver his catch. 

“I have never actually seen that,” said Dumbledore, grabbing a wicker basket and thanking her for the jam.

“It’s New Year’s Day, too, so he got a pretty penny.” Emmeline inquired after the strawberries because they obviously weren't in season and went with some slightly bruised apples instead. 

“You haggle like a local.” Dumbledore, impressed, bought two baguettes, careful to listen to the bread, and some olive oil. He’d learned the bread trick from Jacqueline. Emmeline grabbed orange juice and said she jumped the Channel all the time. They found Gideon, a stocky man with reddish brown hair, dressed in jeans and a Bastille t-shirt by the produce. They exchanged greetings. “Remind your wife she’s from Paris.”

“Snooty Paris where the women walk around like this.” Gideon adopted a funny gait and held his nose in the air. He told her this all the time, though she grew up between Marseille and the capital. He stocked up on homemade hazelnut chocolate spread and tucked these away in Dumbledore’s basket with coffee beans. “A summer and a winter home doesn't make you down to earth, it makes you a Marceau. Ouch.” 

Emmeline punched him in the arm for his cheek. “You can't be bothered to show up on Christmas Day or New Year’s Eve…Christmas Day. No Mass for you.” 

Gideon shrugged this off. “I’m not Catholic?” 

“Christmas Day. Papa wouldn't shut up.” Emmeline frowned when Gideon suggested her grandfather, a department head at the Department of International Magical Cooperation FR, ought to have spent the holidays at the on holiday or away on assignment, except he lived to serve his frail wife these days. Jacqueline wished to die at home or attend an expensive gala in Paris? She got it. Emmeline gestured at herself and rolled her eyes when Gideon promised her the baby would come whenever she pleased. “If it kept on schedule, Papa wouldn't have wasted two days.” 

Gideon, laid back, kissed her on the cheek and said he got three contracts and a bonus. Emmeline, stir crazy with her best rest orders, asked after the money, and he told her thousands. Although the midwife said no traveling, especially no Apparition, they bent this rule a little. Dumbledore went ahead and Disapparated. 

“Papa’s fine,” said Emmeline, looping her arm through Gideon’s when he asked after her grandfather. Despite the fact he was her grandfather, and she was Alice’s daughter, she called him Papa because age stayed a touchy subject with Gabriel Marceau. “Is it bad I want to force potions down her throat to end it?” 

“No.” Gideon got updates throughout the day by owl. Jacqueline no longer took food or water. He confessed he wanted to place a pillow over her face the other night when he popped by. “It’s too painful to witness her withering away.” 

“Nicolas called me a whore.” She nodded when Gideon gaped at her. “I broke an instrument … and Jacqueline warned me he had no filter.”

“And you’re really not yourself.” Gideon shrugged half-heartedly when she shot him a look. He lowered his voice, ticking off with the truth. “Have you seen yourself? You cried when you burnt toast. By the way, who burns toast? I need to steal one of those Muggle appliances from Arthur and cast Charms on it or something. It’s sad when you’re drafting a contract and worry over your pregnant wife starving herself, right? Oh, goodness, this means you’re going to starve my child, too.” 

“You try acting as interpreter among thirty delegates whilst trying to eat. You’ve never sat with Gabriel Marceau, Anita Carlos-Flores, and whoever represents your band of misfits in a conference room during the Iberian Summit and worked as a mouthpiece." Emmeline scoffed when he gave her the name of Caradoc Dearborn. “Yeah, him.” 

Gideon threw up his hands. “He’s in the Order.” 

“Thirty people. All the time. Oh, the summer session when seventy-five of you decided to stay at each others throats? That was fun. Let’s play again.” Emmeline clapped her hands and beamed at him. “Funny how I’m not supposed to be under stress. How’s that working out for us, monsieur?” 

“Yeah. Nobody planned that.” Gideon conceded that and claimed responsibility for her early leave and bed rest orders. Gideon spent money as quickly as he made it, and he burned through it like wildfire. He’d landed himself as the only breadwinner and ran a marathon to stay at the top as the best negotiator. “You look pretty?” 

“Is that a question or a statement? If the midwife gives me one more restriction, I swear I’m going to lose my mind. She wants me to recline three hours a day.” Emmeline never got past seven months before and stupidly raised the alarm and alerted the wrong people two weeks ago. “Oh. And on top of no coffee? No chocolate.” 

Gideon held up a finger, telling her to wait a moment, and went to chase down a vendor. He came back with three large chocolate bars. “Two of these are dark chocolate, which logically means one cancels out the other. I’m lying. We don’t like that woman.”

“See? Gideon,” said Emmeline, calming down when she took a bite and speaking in a softer tone. She had more time than she needed to think, which meant she sat around and worried herself to death. She read through contracts and edited negotiations. As she was a relay agent, got a message to one person to another, she shut off her brain and held no cards in this game. She broke off a piece and handed it to him. “We’re headed towards world war. I feel it in my bones.” 

Gideon nibbled on his chocolate and raised his hand. “Who’s been saying this for six years? Your grandfather won’t listen to me.” 

“I know.” Emmeline saw her old grandfather as an obstacle. Gideon worked as a slave as he pleased two demanding masters. She took another chunk of chocolate and grinned when he purchased two coffees. “You’re my favorite.” 

“Damn straight.” 

Gideon waved at a little girl and tore chocolate off the other end of the bar before he handed it to her. He spoke rapid French, a Parisian dialect, and she answered shyly, surprised this intimidating, pale, red-haired Englishman spoke her tongue. Gideon stood out as an exceptional uncle because he loved children; they were his weakness. He conjured a bouquet of yellow roses for the Muggle girl and clapped her as he stowed his wand away. She tugged at her mother’s skirt, distracting her from a jewelry vendor. Gideon winked at her and placed a finger to his lips after wishing her a Happy New Year, and Emmeline played the stupid, clueless wife. 

“You’ve got to stop doing these things. The Statute of Secrecy? People hope to slap your wrist because you’re you.” Emmeline kissed him back when he pressed his lips to hers. Gideon asked for a little girl. “You didn’t care.” 

“Yeah, but…” Gideon spun her around and pulled a pouty face with an adopted little boy’s voice. The girl bent down and tied her red trainers and twirled in her white dress with red poppies on it. “Little French girl. My little French girl.” 

“She’ll be called Marceau. You’re hopeless.” Emmeline stuck to her fetus theory and distanced herself from getting attached because it never ended well. There was no way to determine the gender of a child by magical means, and even if there was, Emmeline really would not have wished to know the secret. Gideon nodded, completely wrapped up in some strange euphoria and grinned like an idiot. “Don’t get excited. We’re talking about me, so don’t be surprised if this child comes out with three arms or … or something. The fetus is probably dead.” 

“Maman’s not usually this mean. She loves you.” Gideon switched to upbeat, conversational French and knelt in the middle of the crowded square to talk to someone who wasn't even there. He chatted with her belly as if he expected a response. He took her hand and placed it on top of his other one. “You feel that? Of course you do. I think she recognizes my voice.”

“It’s not a she. Get up.” Emmeline, embarrassed, tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and nodded like some hapless idiot. Gideon got up and continued on like this happened all the time. He said Fabian, his twin brother, was arriving tomorrow. She groaned. “I told you not to make a thing out of this.” 

“He wants to say goodbye to Jacqueline.” Gideon offered nothing about the baby. Emmeline said Fabian before hurry. 

“Emmeline, it’s fine. We’ll be fine without her … you’ve got me, Fabian, and Gabriel, your aunts and uncles, and Molly.” Gideon sighed when he unintentionally turned her waters works on. She shook her head, not hearing him or listening to him. He hugged her, stashing away the chocolate, and shushed her. 

“No, no … it won’t. I want Jacqueline.” Emmeline leaned into Gideon when he pulled her onto a side street as the fish vender passed them. Gideon took a deep steadying breath. “She’s leaving me… and I’m not ready.” 

“You’ll never be ready.” Gideon patted her hair and muttered about the no stress thing flying straight out the window. He nodded when she insisted she needed Jacqueline. His voice broke, a rare thing, and he struggled, too. “I need you … I understand, but I need you to please come back to me. I love her, too.” 

Emmeline stood there for a moment and eventually gathered herself. Jacqueline wasn't yet gone, but Emmeline had sat on the sidelines waiting. Gideon suggested they go home because Professor Dumbledore was there and Gabriel would be there soon; it wasn't their place but Nicolas’s home away from home. He tossed their stuff in a wastebasket, took her by the arm, twisted his heel and prepared to Disapparate. 

 

Something went wrong. For a second, Emmeline imagined something wrong with the baby, but that wasn't it. Frightened, she let go for a fraction of a second, redoubled her grip, and snatched nothing but air. Gideon spun away from her, and she crashed onto the pavement. She smelled blood, and gulped, horrified, when she saw her leg feet away. Muggles poured into Calais all the time. What would they think if they saw a limb lying around? A large, bulky man picked her up, grabbed the leg, and ignored her feeble protests. She identified him as the fisherman and wondered how she’d play this out. They Diapparated and she faded away. 

 

Hours, maybe days, passed in a blur. She kept going in and out. Emmeline remembered lying in a bed in a room. Some time later, she recalled flashes of pain followed by relief. She’d asked her captor, the fisherman who only gave the name of David, why he snatched a pregnant woman. He gave no answer. A day must have passed before it dawned on her this stranger would be her only hope. Dazed, she watched the sun came up, and took her baby in her arms. 

“They won’t have heard you screaming with my protective charms and enchantments.” The man walked with a slight limp and struck her back when she slapped him because of the pains. He hissed at the child. “Shut her up.” r32;

“Someone will had heard me,” she said, feeding the child and taking stock of the place. There were no childcare things except when he’d dashed off to the store. Emmeline had been too slow in her attempt to escape. David grunted and said he seriously doubted it. “What would you want with some country woman?”

“You’re from Marseille,” he said, stepping out and coming back minutes later. He clearly hadn't expected to have a second charge on his hands. He sounded English, and Emmeline couldn't recall actually speaking to him in Calais. They were somewhere in Paris now. The man dropped hints here and there. She said needed fresh clothes. “Why? So you can ran for it again? Kind of stupid to run with a baby coming, eh? I should’ve left you in the stairwell.” 

David sighed, frustrated, when someone knocked on his front door. He left. Emmeline held the child close and debated whether or not she should scream. She decided no, but as she sat there waiting, Emmeline changed her mind. David had learned from his previous mistake and magically locked the door from the inside. He’d been kind enough to reattach her leg, but he kept her wand on his person. Emmeline startled the newborn and called out in French. Minutes later, David stormed back into the room with a ginger-haired, dodgy character with bandy legs. This fellow smoked a pipe and grunted through a cloud of green smoke. 

“It ain’t right, David Wilkes, you’ve gone too far,” said the man. He shrugged when David told him to hush, and Emmeline had no idea whether this man had dropped the correct surname or not, strode over and struck Emmeline hard in the face. David threatened to take the baby and get rid of it. Emmeline, scared for more than the first time, got back into bed after going to the bathroom. The other man offered her the baby and muttered Mr. Wilkes went out to get stuff. “Don’t try anything.” 

“* _Gardez votre distance, vous êtes drunkard_.” Emmeline took the baby and could smell the drink off who she guessed was a homeless man. She could tell he couldn't speak French and decided to lower her guard, although she didn’t know why. She shushed the baby, comforting herself at the same time, or she at least attempted to do this. An interpreter, not a lawyer, she weaved together nonsense with whatever nonsense she understood and lined a defense. 

The man blocked the door and kept his eyes on the knob. He took out a sheaf of parchment, cleared his throat and gave his name as Mundungus Fletcher before he read the note little a small child. “I ain’t saying this right. Butchering it probably. ‘ _Vous êtes en sécurité avec cest home. Il est avec me, Emmeline. Two n'es pass soul_. Got your name right. Hopefully you got that?” 

Emmeline nodded, wondering how in the world Albus Dumbledore stumbled upon this man and pieced this together so quickly. Not everyone within the professor’s circle knew each other, and she suspected he did this on purpose. She approached him, still cautious, and offered him her hand. He said he didn't like small children because they cried and shit everywhere, but hers looked okay. 

“Thank you?” She took a step back and chose to not point out those who married themselves to the bottle shared similar behaviors. He asked her to call him Dung, and for whatever reason, this didn’t lighten the mood. Emmeline seriously questioned some half-baked plan here and doubted Professor Dumbledore’s abilities for the first time in her life. 

“He said feed you some ridiculous equation, but I don’t do maths past the practical stuff so …” Mundungus shrugged and offered her a plain silver cigarette lighter from inside his grubby coat. He stared, aghast, when Emmeline struck it, expecting to see a flame like her grandmother’s. The light from the nearby lamp on the beside table zoomed into it like an orb. Mundungus said he should’ve nicked the instrument under his breath. “He’ll be wanting that back.” 

“He taught me calculus,” she said slowly in an offhand way, studying the lighter with interest. 

Mundungus said he had no idea what she said, but she should take a peek outside the window. Emmeline, merely curious, clicked the lighter again and released the light back into the lamp. She spotted two sturdy men, Gideon and Fabian, she guessed. They surrounded the man called David Wilkes and shouted at him. The man decided to run, and Fabian, an Auror, took chase. There was a flash of green light and Wilkes dropped dead on the pavement. Emmeline, shocked, shielded the baby and asked Mundungus to draw his wand. 

“Why?” Mundungus acted like he needed incentive to do anything. 

“I haven’t … here.” Emmeline took off her silver inlaid diamond watch, a gift from Nicolas Flamel, shifted the baby awkwardly, and tossed it to him. Mundungus asked if it was real as he examined it. “Are you kidding me?” 

“I’m just asking.” Mundungus stowed it away with his pipe before he drew his wand. Next moment, Gideon asked him to open the door. He called him Dung. Mundungus undid the latch and let them in after he asked a few questions. 

“Are you all right?” Gideon examined Emmeline’s face closely and didn't turn away until Mundungus said he wanted compensation for finding a Death Eater. Gideon waved him down, showing them he knew of the request, and scooped up his daughter. He checked her fingers and toes, every minute detail, and kissed her small foot. 

Mundungus grumbled when Fabian snatched the watch and said it was unkind to take things that didn't belong to him. “She gave it to me.” 

“She would’ve given you her wedding band, too. You want that?” Fabian sighed when Mundungus said yes. “Dumbledore got you off on that Class C Untradeable charge, but you’re gonna need a lawyer for this.” 

“I ain’t done nothing!” Mundungus waved an arm at Emmeline, hoping for an ally. “I ain’t done nothing to you.” 

“You need a lawyer to help clear your name, and hearsay doesn't matter, because this is international law you’re toying with here.” Gideon spoke patiently and held up a hand to silence the informant. “She’s an interpreter, okay? And she’s the adopted daughter and biological granddaughter of Monsieur Marceau. You give a statement, you walk away.” 

Mundungus probably thought he got taken advantage of here. “It ain’t enough. I want in the Order.” 

Emmeline, breathing easily for the first time since she’d disappeared from Calais, took a moment to weigh what he said. “The Order? Why would anyone want a petty thief in a secret organization?” 

“I ain’t no thief! And you’re welcome.” Mundungus, a little hot under the collar, turned towards Emmeline as he tossed her a rucksack he’d magicked out of thin air. Inside, Emmeline found a red polka dotted dress and other things. He shrugged when Gideon shook his head. “I ain’t. I just, you know, borrow stuff without the intention of giving it back, you know? I got a little business on the side, too.” 

“Okay, Dung. Sorry to do this to you, mate, but this isn't on me.” Gideon always kept Emmeline on his side, even if the truth came out much later than eventually. “The copper cuff links I said I lost last year for our seventh anniversary? And the personalized pennies? The Muggle money you gave me? He nicked them.” 

“Personalized pennies? Seriously?” Emmeline prided herself on this idea because Gideon collected foreign currency. She’d gone through a Muggle friend to get these crafted. She rounded on Mundungus and answered him with a hand gesture. Fabian clapped his hands, saying he’d missed her, and Emmeline went to shower and change. She hurried, wishing to get out of this place as soon as possible. She brushed the wrinkles out and ignored the bulge, for she hardly cared about her appearance. “You, Mr. Fletcher, I want my pennies and my cuff links back. Both of them were personalized. What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“I dunno where they are.” Mundungus told her he’d look around. 

“Emmeline,” said Gideon, not caring about some old gift in the slightest. She mentioned the Paris of her childhood was gone. They lived in the city, on rue de Mortmorency, the street where Nicolas Flamel and his wife once owned property. “Those are trinkets, and they mean nothing. We have each other. That’s … that’s all that matters. Let’s go home.” 

Emmeline swore she picked up something in Gideon’s voice when he suggested Mundungus talk to Professor Dumbledore about joining the Order because they had no sway in this decision. Gideon changed his first nappy, pulling it off flawlessly like he’d been doing it for years because he’d had a lot of practice with Molly’s children. He passed the baby off to Emmeline, calling her Sophie, and kissed her forehead. 

“Sophie.” Emmeline touched the baby's nose and smiled at the sound of the name. Fabian gave the full name, Sophie Jacqueline Charlotte Marceau, something he had in his back trouser pocket a long time ago. “Charlotte. That’s the fourth generation to carry that name.” 

“Uh huh.” Fabian swung the rucksack over his shoulder and invited Mundungus to leave first.

Fabian swept the room, careful not to touch anything not leave a hair out of place because the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He winked at Emmeline, saying he needed time with this favorite niece. (She was his only one.) Fabian lived for the single life of a bachelor and strayed away from commitment like the plague or dragon pox, so he went with seasonal attractions when it came to women. He didn't date anyone at the Ministry or the Order of the Phoenix on principle. Because this added unnecessary melodrama to his life, and chances were, someone would end up dead. 

“Marriage isn't end of the world.” Emmeline took Gideon’s hand and hope she never got stranded in the Paris ghetto again. Fabian, walking backwards, turned to Gideon like he needed a translation to get filled in on the conversation. Emmeline took her wand when he offered it to her. She got the joke. “Oh, you’re hilarious, Mr. Prewett. It was in English, thank you very much.” 

“It was funny.” Gideon, the responsible and eldest one, sounded tired. They stopped by the hospital to get the baby checked out. Emmeline zoned out when the officers from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement questioned her. Gideon snapped his fingers under her nose and advised someone, any Healer, to run a rape kit. Emmeline declined this as a pointless step, but she did it anyway after she gave her statement. They asked thrice to catch things or holes in her story. “Fabian’s got to file a report.”

“No.” Emmeline silently cursed herself as tears spilled into her hair. Why had she showered before thinking of this procedure? There was nothing to gather, of course, yet any lawyer with half a brain would ask why. Gideon sat her head and ran his fingers trough her hair. “Time needs to slow down for a few nights. Please.” 

Gideon turned his head and spoke to Fabian on the other side of the curtain. 

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll stay.” Fabian cursed when Gideon told him not to hang around France simply to get buried underneath a mountain of paperwork, parchment, and assignment. “What did I say, Monsieur Negotiator?” 

“He’s staying in Paris,” said Gideon brightly, rubbing his hands together. Fabian tacked on an insult at the end. “I’m supposed to be in Madrid and then Seville in three hours.” 

“That’s not happening,” laughed Emmeline, shaking her head and putting her clothes back on. After they double checked everything, she left the hospital gown on the bed and signed a birth certificate with Gideon. They listed the religion as Catholicism and Sophie’s nationality as French because Gideon held a dual citizenship by marriage. “You’ve got a sidekick.” 

Fabian purchased an old-fashioned black pram from a nearby shop, got a date with the proprietor, and came back to get them ready to head back home. Fabian asked if they wanted to go to Calais. Gideon said no. They went into the small house and got situated. Emmeline nearly crawled out her skin when she backtracked and saw Albus Dumbledore sitting in the dark sitting room; none of them caught this on the first turn. He sat with his fingertips together and buried his face in his weathered hands. 

“I took your papa’s key,” he said, placing it on the table. He studied Emmeline’s face. 

“She’s dead.” Emmeline left emotion out and addressed him in a matter-of-fact tone and nodded when Dumbledore asked if she was all right. “No.” 

“What do you need?” Dumbledore stayed put and set her on track; he caught the Deluminator with a quick hand when she tossed it in the air. 

“There’s a funeral? Notre Dame. I think … she devoted her research to the University of Paris. There’s a eulogy … I can’t … I can’t.” 

“Gabriel asked to take that responsibility.” Dumbledore waited for permission. Emmeline hated that she wasn't there to say goodbye, snd he coaxed this out of her. He got up and embraced her. “Look at me. No, sweet girl, she knew. You were there. She wasn't … she left the other day.” 

Emmeline asked how he knew this. 

“She called me Nicolas and asked me to read the next chapter. There was no book.” Dumbledore reached in his robes and handed her a Rosary, Jacqueline’s Rosary, and an ordinary silver cigarette lighter. His eyes twinkled when Gideon handed him a wrapped bundle. “This is the new Mademoiselle Marceau? She’s beautiful. Hello.” 

Sophie, of course, said nothing, though her small arm had escaped the blanket, and Dumbledore kissed her hand before he went to sit back down. Fabian went to drop his things in the bedroom, Gideon sat beside Emmeline on the couch as the professor shared a story about a homeless girl called Jacqueline. Emmeline flicked the lighter absentmindedly and played with the illuminating blue flame. Professor Dumbledore paused, thinking as he replaced his half-moon spectacles on his crooked nose, and smiled when Emmeline suggested he start at the beginning. 

 

*”Keep your distance, you drunkard.” 

*”You are safe with this man. He’s with me, Emmeline. You’re not alone.”, a broken translation


	2. Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emmeline returns to England to help an old friend.

Get out. They stole time off the clock, and she basically went through the back door casting a cheap trick with her husband, but they couldn't keep up this rouse forever. When would the Death Eaters discover this loophole? She and Gideon destroyed any trace of themselves in England; they stayed with Fabian in a two-bedroom flat above the baker and his wife near Reading. She washed her face and set the hand towel in the basin. Whenever they shaved near a close call, they either stayed with Nicolas Flamel in Dover, or they fled to Paris, Marseille or Calais, or they crashed at Fabian’s place. A few years ago, they thought nothing of it. A small human changed everything. 

“You’re not sleeping,” she said, stepping over Sophie’s still form on the floor and getting back in the bed. 

They drew the curtains closed at night so nobody knew anyone lived in the second bedroom; like a homeless Muggle family living out of their car, they lived nowhere; they stayed here and there and left no trace. They lived nowhere. Gideon got up and scooped up the toddler. Sophie had spent three and a half years hiding here and there, and she didn’t even know what happened. Last night, distorted memories of quick flashes, Emmeline and Gideon spent the night at a hotel in Paris whilst Fabian watched over Sophie at his home; neither of them slept. 

“Papa’s putting you in bed,” said Gideon drowsily, kissing Sophie on the cheek and picking up her lovey. 

Sophie muttered incoherently in sleepy, slurred French and wrapped her arms around his neck. Gideon acknowledged her, half-listening, though he stopped dead when he heard footsteps coming down the corridor. Emmeline got up and dressed hurriedly in the dark when Gideon hissed at her. Fabian edged into the room, thinking to shield his eyes a little too late, but it hardly mattered to Emmeline. He held a taper aloft and said they had to leave. 

“Where are we going to go?” Emmeline tossed Gideon their child’s blue jacket. He pulled it over Sophie’s pajamas and told her they were going on an adventure. Gideon waved his wand over his rucksacks and paced the small bedroom when their baggage disappeared. If they ended up at the wrong place, he’d Summon these things and hopefully get settled. Fabian said he’d offered his place as a safe house to Arabella Figg and her quiet husband. “But we’re family.” 

“Yeah, and this makes you a suspicious target, so get the hell out. No offense.” Fabian smooched Sophie on the cheek and grinned when Gideon shushed her. Emmeline tied her hair back in a loose bun and sidestepped out of the bedroom. She brought up the rear and shivered when Fabian blew out the taper. It could not be a handoff if someone, anyone, really, snooped around and caught new strangers coming in off the streets. 

“I tire of this,” said Emmeline. Sophie suffered from another ear infection and Gideon downright refused to stay at a refugee shelter. They volunteered there on their downtime. Emmeline quit her job as an interpreter a year ago to concentrate on the Order and forged things like birth certificates, Apparition licenses, and a handful of Muggle passports to protect witches, wizards and Muggles alike. Fabian pointed out Mrs. Figg was a Squib who tipped them off a lot, and they ought to save everyone they could at the end of the day. “I know that.”   
Fabian gaped at her when she took off her watch, Nicolas’s watch, and asked him to get it to Rory Figg. Rory worked in Magical Maintenance and scraped by on the skin of his teeth on a good day. People at the Ministry of Magic assumed Emmeline gave up a career to be a content housewife. A wealthy woman, she needn't live off her husband because she came from money, and she’d picked up a trick or two as an amateur alchemist. She dabbled with other metals because not everything needed a Midas touch to turn to gold. 

“You’re a good sister. Sometimes my favorite. Don't tell Molly.” Fabian clasped hands with Gideon, telling him they’d see each other later tonight for an assignment, and he locked Emmeline in a tight embrace. “Send me an owl so I know my doppelgänger and my French girls are safe and sound. An encrypted owl, in case the thing gets intercepted.” 

“Thank you.” Emmeline used cigarettes as currency and tossed him a parcel. Mundungus Fletcher didn’t actually mind when he got paid by junk and stuff. He thrived when it came to economics inside the Order of the Phoenix. She’d never smoked a day in her life, even though she carried a silver cigarette lighter. Gideon told Sophie to say goodbye and reminded her to speak in English for her uncle. 

“Bye bye, Uncle Fabian, * _je t’aime_.” She got it half credit. 

“I love you, you too, sweet girl. I’ll see you in Paris in a few days. Three sleeps.” Fabian understood enough French to get through this without a helping hand. He up three fingers and waved as enthusiastically as Sophie until the small family turned the corner. 

“If he heads to Paris and leaves them defenseless,” said Emmeline, second-guessing every single move they made nowadays. Sophie started complaining, and Gideon, tired beyond tired, took a sleeping potion out of his pocket. Emmeline sniffed it, not entirely sure she trusted the apothecary, and handed it back to him. “I don’t want to give this to her.” “Emmeline, come on,” said Gideon, impatient and at the end of his rope. “Would I harm her?” 

“It’s milk and honey, with ginger root and cinnamon.” “A Muggle remedy. There’s a splash of vanilla in there, too,” said Gideon. He tipped it down Sophie’s throat, shushing her with they Disapparated and appeared in Calais a minute later. Sophie swallowed and shook her head when Gideon offered her more. He admitted he slipped something magical in the brew. Sophie passed out after she asked to go home, speaking in F her native tongue.   
“I’m working on it,” Gideon promised her. He ran a shaky hand through her hair, his eyes darting left and right. There was nobody there, but he acted as though someone tailed them because they had Disapparated twice to get to this place. “God fucking damnit!” 

“Gideon.” Emmeline froze in fear at his tone. 

“Keep walking. Act natural.” “Why are we here?” Emmeline told the ticket master they were standing around and gaped at Gideon when he produced a passport and a couple tickets. They “What are you doing?” 

“I’m not doing anything.” Gideon shrugged off his rucksack, gave it to her and attempted to cart Sophie off like a sack of potatoes. Sophie still clung to him, and Emmeline saw tears in his eyes. “I’ll see you on Thursday afternoon. Make sure you give her the ear drops, okay?” “Gideon?” Emmeline shifted Sophie in her arms. Confused and frightened, she let the rucksack dangle from her arm. “What is this assignment? We can stay with you.” “No. The ferry's leaving soon.” Gideon helped her onto the ferry and thanked a young man for giving up his seat. He kissed her goodbye and handed her a pouch. If he wasn’t in Calais by Thursday, move to the house in Paris and stay there. When Emmeline asked why this would be a problem, he dismissed her worries with a wave of his hand. He kissed her. “I love you and I want more.” Emmeline shook her head, certain she'd missed a step in his instructions. “More?” Gideon grinned, his brown eyes softening as he gave her a crinkly eyed smile and kissed her again. “More of this. Sophie needs a friend.”

“Oh.” Emmeline blushed when she got the delayed message and tapped her foot. “Why Paris?”“We used to have fun in the old days. Lots of sex. More of that, too.” Gideon pointed out they weren't yet dead, even though they were finally parents. Emmeline, pleased he leaned into her to share this private conversation, bet the boy who gave up his seat caught every word. Gideon breathed into her ear. “Remember the good spontaneous sex?” “Mr. Prewett, you are walking a dangerous line here, monsieur,” said Emmeline, flushed with color despite the cold air. He said she’d had no complaints the night before. A ticket master came abroad and asked Gideon for his ticket as the ferry started to move. He didn't have one Emmeline said goodbye and squeezed his hand. “Gideon?” “Yeah?” He went towards the exit and got off.

Emmeline said she loved him very quietly and she wasn’t sure if he caught it. Gideon got off and sat on a wooden crate. Emmeline crossed her legs and grumbled about his selective hearing. As the ferry went through the dark waters, she winked at him and smiled to herself, as if she guarded a secret. Nothing ever happened in three sleeps. She lived by Sophie’s unit of measurement and wondered if she read to much into her fear. What’s the worse that could happen? 

 

He never made it to Paris or Calais. Emmeline got lost within the city, and she ignored owls she received from Molly Weasley. They held no funeral, as the Prewett brothers were burned alive, no cremation costs included, and she emptied his ashes, though they probably contained his brother’s too, into the English Channel. It took months for her to reach this point, and the remains passed through her fingers like sand. Sophie stood next to her and stared across the way. 

It took fifteen years for her to step back onto English soil. Emmeline went out her way to serve Spain, Portugal, Poland, and places throughout Europe, and she sometimes went to the United States, too, but she made every conscious decision and went out of her way not to pick up an English assignment. She got older because her laugh lines turned into crow’s feet, yet they said she retained Jacqueline’s beauty. She turned into a brunette and got crafty about hiding grey hairs. If the Order of the Phoenix had been formed by anyone else, she might have denied the invitation because this war wasn't her problem. Not yet. An interpreter turned skilled negotiator, she worked for the Department of International Magical Cooperation and served the International Confederation of Wizards. She stopped outside of two houses in London, checked a sheaf of parchment with narrow writing on it, and set it aflame with the tip of her wand as Number Twelve squeezed itself into place. 

She went inside, careful to not ring the doorbell, and she got a stalk reminder of when her grandmother passed away. Nicolas Flamel and his wife had joined Jacqueline two years ago. Nicolas himself gave Emmeline the last vials of Elixir as a parting gift. They stood out as a stalk reminder than anything else; humans made the worst choices for themselves and deliberately delayed the consequences. She always kept one of these, one of the seven phials, on her person. 

Old fashioned gas lamps flickered to life. Emmeline hurried along and stopped outside the kitchen when she heard hushed voices. Albus Dumbledore, always on the go, nearly swept by without noticing her, but he doubled back and kissed her on the cheek, the same way he had when she was a little girl. Emmeline blushed. 

“Forgive me,” he said, leaning to whisper in her ear. Onlookers at the kitchen table craned their necks. He switched to French, his voice changing a little, and he asked after the children. Emmeline laughed softly, giving the expected answer in a pinch and invited him to coffee. “I can’t wait.” 

He took her hand, pressed his lips to it, and swept down the badly wallpapered corridor after giving the others a parting wave. Emmeline, suddenly nervous though she couldn't exactly put her finger on why, bit her lower lip, lowered her hood, and gathered her courage. She recognized faces like Remus Lupin, Sirius Back, and Molly Weasley. Molly wasn't in the Order last time, of course, because she had a gang of small children, and both Gideon and Fabian would have forbade it. 

“The French girl.” Sirius, excited, rubbed his hands together as Emmeline’s eyes adjusted to the light of the cavernous kitchen. He nudged the rags on the table and told it to lay off the drink. Mundungus Fletcher checked Emmeline out with his baleful, bloodshot eyes and passed out again. Sirius shrugged. “The gang’s back together. Are you single, madame?” 

Remus Lupin snorted as he organized rolls of parchment with a young man who wore his hair back in a ponytail. Emmeline dodged this question. She learned the Order got reformed three days ago. She’d been in Seville when she received an owl from Dumbledore, yet she came as fast as she could. He’d hit the ground running at the end of the school year. 

“Sirius, again, I am too old and probably too clever for the likes of you. But thank you. I decline to acquiesce your request.” Emmeline, the sides of her mouth twitching, recycled the same line she’d delivered sixteen years ago. The young red-haired man ladled onion soup into a large bowl and passed it to her with bread and salad. “On the bright side, Gideon’s not here to tell you to keep your filthy hands off what’s not yours. Every little bit helps, eh?” 

Remus, chortling, choked on his wine and reached across the table to shake her hand. 

Sirius addressed Molly as she poured Emmeline wine. She’d pinned her hair back and seemed agitated about something, but she pursed her lips and nodded curtly. “Your brother knocked the stuffing out of me that day. Like it was nothing.” 

Molly said nothing. She called the young ginger Bill, and Emmeline realized with a shock she had not seen this kid since he was ten. Bill, hands down Gideon’s favorite nephew, had often got smuggled into France or Spain whenever Molly said no. Gideon, negotiator extraordinaire, sharpened his skills and used diversionary tactics; he snuck behind Molly’s back to ask Arthur, and , the pushover on-the-go for excitement and new things, always said yes. She offered her hand to Bill, surprised when he locked her into a tight, rib cracking embrace.

“I missed you,” said Bill, catching a roll of parchment before it slipped off the table and onto the stone floor. Mundungus, out of it, raised his hand and said he agreed with whatever Sirius said. 

“Shut up, Dung,” said Sirius, picking up the parchment roll. Mundungus answered with a snore. 

“Oh, my God. Will you look at you?” Emmeline touched his face and gave a shaky laugh. He reminded her of a younger Gideon, though Gideon had been more built, stronger, and had darker, thicker hair. “I feel so old.” 

“Don’t.” Bill told her about working in Egypt, though he chained himself to a desk at the moment, and asked after Sophie. Emmeline took out her wallet and showed him a photograph of a blonde girl walking backwards down a Parisian street; she held a lantern aloft. In another photograph, Sophie was wrapped in the arms of a heavier young man. Bill tapped it. “Who’s that?” 

“Yes, tell him who that is,” said Molly, a fixed smile on her smile as she challenged Emmeline. Emmeline, taken aback by her anger, found herself momentarily lost for words. She used the onion soup as a distraction and accidentally burned the roof of her mouth. Molly, deciding she’d deliver the blow, for she'd clearly been waiting years to say something, held them in no suspense. “That’s her half-brother.” 

“Sophie has a brother,” said Emmeline, who didn't understand this half nonsense. Since when was anyone half a person? Molly scoffed, ignoring Remus’s raised eyebrows, and marched towards the range. Emmeline got too spoiled with Gideon having everything on the table. “Why don't you say whatever you want? Come on, Molly, let’s clear the air.” 

“You disappeared into Paris, or Marseille, or Merlin knows where, and you had this bastard …” Molly slammed pots and pans around as she charmed things to wash themselves. Emmeline said she had nowhere go, and the war was over, and she wished to get on with her life. Molly placed her hands on her hips when she, Emmeline, claimed her family fell apart. “Your life? I didn't even get to say goodbye. You took her away! You made that call. Not me.” 

“Molly,” said Remus calmly. 

“Shut up.” Molly rounded on him and stalked back towards the table. “Whatever choices you made, Emmeline, that's on you. You don't think I didn't know. Gideon came to me crying every time … I knew every time you lost one, and Sophie came along, and he died. Where were you? You moved on. Is his father French? That big-nosed man Gideon hated?” 

“Gideon was French by marriage.” Emmeline let Gideon make the call about his dual citizenship. Bill tapped the photograph, patient but persistent with his mother, and begged her to look at the face. Even healers and midwives commented on Emmeline's fertility; Gideon had often joked about it. Angry, Emmeline explained, not that it was any of Molly’s business. “The night before he died, he took me out … and he stayed up with me until he passed out from exhaustion. You have seven children. Gideon liked his … he enjoyed me as his wife. Shut up, Sirius, if you say one word …” 

Sirius leaned back in his chair and kept his mouth shut; he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. He’d caught Emmeline and Gideon in the act at a bookshop after an Order meeting ages ago. Emmeline guessed that story made it around to at least Remus, Peter, James, and Lily back in the day, and Emmeline remembered making eye contact with the young man as she whispered in French to her husband. 

“The next day Gideon took me to Calais. And he died. I found out I was pregnant with Léo, and I wanted to reach out to you, Molly, but I couldn't …I couldn't breathe. I couldn't …”

Emmeline equated her downward spiral into depression to an encounter with a Dementor. She’d eaten her feelings, shoved them deep down, and realized it was too late to send an owl to her sister-in-law. The war had passed, but the aftermath lingered for a couple years. When she’d heard of the Longbottoms, she feared for her children and scurried deeper into Paris. And she adopted the sometimes surname of Vance. It took Léo’s birth to kickstart the healing process, and even then, it took years for Emmeline to feel comfortable in her skin. 

“What they probably didn't tell you in the court transcripts?” Emmeline took a shot in the dark here because she didn’t know. “I imagined I saw a flare as the ferry, a mode of Muggle transportation pulled away. Gideon got ambushed with Fabian, and they cornered him and ser him on fire. I think he changed his mind last minute.” 

“You saw?” Molly’s brown eyes got big. She quoted some tabloid nonsense from a nobody as she served her husband dinner. As this was old news by journalism standards, Emmeline frowned, not really surprised Molly kicked up dirt and stirred up trouble. “I’ve got me. You don't fret over me or mine.” Emmeline, confident, gathered her things and nodded at Molly. She’d gotten knocked down over the years and eventually found her feet. Including her grandfather, negotiators and contractors alike said an interpreter had no business playing high stakes at a man's game, and Emmeline pounded the pavement to gather a team. Molly, clearly flustered, turned to Arthur for support. “I don’t need saving Molly because I got my stuff together ages ago.”

Molly stood there for a long moment, perhaps crafting something for the last word because she and Emmeline hadn't always been on the best terms nor seen eye to eye on most things. Emmeline didn't like her arrogance. Yes, she had raised seven children and managed a household, but Molly often insisted she had to insert her opinions on things she knew nothing, absolutely nothing, about because she stayed inside her bubble and pulled from stupid, fluff sources like Rita Skeeter or Maxilla Amarillo. All right, so she might not know who Amarillo was, but she tried to make sense of a world of which she remained wholeheartedly ignorant. 

“I hear things,” said Molly, refusing to drop this and put it to bed. The dishes clinked as they wished and dried themselves in the background and put themselves away. 

“Ignorance isn't always a bad thing. You can't know everything when you don't know anything. You read! You read a paper or a magazine fit for manure. Think, Molly. There is power in admitting you don’t know!” Emmeline, confident, ripped off the bandage. 

The more Molly’s face reddened and she lost her temper, Emmeline spoke at a slower, collected pace. She admitted she was a shabby hand at potions and she couldn't recall the Periodic Table from memory to save her life. Alchemy wasn't magic; it presented itself as the precursor of the Muggle’s modern chemistry. Magic and Muggles, whilst alchemy breathed with magical hints, met somewhere in the middle. Molly had seven children, and there was no doubt in her mind of Molly’s abilities, but she didn't know everything. 

“I bet you let Sophie and that boy run around,” said Molly. 

“That boy is my pride and joy,” said Emmeline, breathing sharply through her nose. Sirius, impressed, sat up straighter and paid closer attention. She said that, too. Sophie was her carbon copy, her soul, and Léo was her pride and joy. She dropped emotion from her tone and accepted a beer Sirius conjured; it tasted like dirty water, but nobody drank alcohol for the way it went down. “The reason you never … Gideon and Fabian watched you and your family around the clock. They were exhausted, running on fumes. You wait and see. You call me negligent because I left Sophie with Fabian some nights? You fell asleep by your husband every night. Gideon got his arm snapped in three places and broke his leg. Some Squib dragged him home, and he wouldn't go to hospital because he feared exposing the Order.” 

“I didn't…” Molly’s face fell. 

“Imagine that,” said Emmeline dryly, taking a swig of her beer and getting to her feet. Both Remus and Arthur told her to sit down. “Don't get your feet wet if you don't know what you’re stepping into.” 

She finished her beer and said good night. Molly, speaking friendly though she appeared to wish Emmeline nothing but ill, asked her to stay the night because of the late hour. Sirius growled a little, clearing his throat and Molly realized too late she shouldn’t offer houseroom if this wasn’t her place. Sirius extended the same offer. He said the same thing, except his tone actually sounded genuine. Emmeline turned him down until Arthur said she’d have to cross a border to get back to her bed.

“You’ve changed.” Molly stated a fact in a conversational tone. 

She went upstairs to change into her night things and came back down in her dressing gown and sat at the table. The only ones who remained at the table were Sirius, Bill, Arthur, and Molly. Emmeline gave a mirthless laugh. Life changed her. She certainly didn’t trust people anymore and questions the motives behind any actions. Emmeline recalled a happy, content life with Gideon. Well, they had been happy for the most part because they traveled anywhere at the drop of a hat. Emmeline didn’t put it on Léo to be the man of the house because she liked knowing her children were safe. At eighteen, Sophie wasn't a child anymore, yet she’d be Emmeline’s little girl forever. Emmeline chose save ground because she wished to meet Molly somewhere in the middle. Who else did Molly care for more than her children and her husband? 

“What’s Léo like?” Bill acted like a sponge, starving for news of his foreign cousins. Bill worked at the London Gringotts Bank location and had tied himself to a desk, and he’d met some beautiful French girl there. 

“Food,” said Emmeline, grinning when Bill muttered this isn’t really what he’d meant. “I know. His friends at Beauxbatons call him Croissant. The things we eat for breakfast? And we claim we have light breakfasts. Whenever I got lazy at a government or an embassy, I’d either make supper ahead or do breakfast for dinner. “Léo lived for pain au chocolat when he was a small boy. I talked him into acting as my spy during a conference or a summit if the International Confederation of Wizards when he was five.” 

“Yeah?” Bill scratched his chin thoughtfully. “That’s child trafficking.” 

“That’s what Dumbledore said.” Emmeline agreed with Bill by giving him a high five. 

Molly, horrified, took this literally. Strictly speaking, Emmeline traded no goods or substances illegally, but children, especially small children, went allowed on government premises during negotiations and secret security clearance stuff. Sometimes she couldn’t get a sitter. Arthur took off his glasses, getting the joke, and wiped his face wearily. 

Emmeline raised her wand lazily, promising to restock any ingredients she stole here. Buttery, flaky pastry, similar to croissants wrapped themselves around individual chocolates. Aluminum foil bits fell into the table, and Sirius, bored out of his mind, formed these into an aluminum ball. Pain au chocolat sounded really good at the moment, and they need some gooey happiness if they went back into the secret society again. The chocolate bread sizzled, heated in midair, the tops glistening, and piled high on a large platter Molly conjured. The egg wash applied itself with a pastry brush, and the dirty dished cleaned themselves. 

“Mum, you’re missing out.” Bill burnt the roof of his mouth because he couldn't wait. He’d done this with eclairs, too, whenever Gideon whisked him off to France and they caught Emmeline in a good moment, lost in a baking binge. He alternated bites between two of these, and they all ignored Molly when she suggested he not eat with his mouth full. “I’m seven again. This is awesome. Léo and Sophie are lucky. You still make ratatouille?” 

“I made it the other day. I stole this Muggle kitchen contraption called a mandolin.” Emmeline cooked ahead, especially when the kids were at school, but she couldn't pass up on summertime veggies in the farmer’s market. She invited him to come over and enjoy leftovers. Molly said nobody jumped countries for leftovers, but Bill dismissed her with a wave of his hand. He lapped it up like a parched dog. “Tomorrow? Yeah. The kids’ll be there.” 

“Cool. Free food.” Bill rubbed his hands together excitedly. Emmeline nodded, thinking he and Léo would get along splendidly. Molly took a pain au chocolat off the top and took a bite. She gave Emmeline a thumbs up, catching the pastry before she accidentally dropped it. Compared to the skill of Molly Weasley, Emmeline guessed she'd get shuffled along in the kitchen without contest.Gideon used to run circles around her because he was a natural cook. The dish disappeared in no time. “You still drink coffee with everything?” 

Emmelime shrugged this off. “Do the English still sip tea? I love how you act like it gives you the same caffeine fix when it doesn't compare; one is definitely not the other. You’ve have before mornings with coffee.” 

“That’s a stereotypical opinion.” When Molly got Gideon back home, Emmeline had fixed him with dependency on coffee. “No, Mum. Ask an Arab to fix you coffee, and you’ll see what she’d talking about You want to talk about a strong coffee?” Bill whistled. Molly packed away the rest of the pasties for proper breakfast later in the morning. “Stuff will knock you down.” 

“You’re a talented pastry chef.” Molly paid Emmelime a compliment and took another chocolate bread before the airtight container zoomed into the pantry. Emmeline didn’t plan on hanging around for breakfast because wasn't yet really to face the whole Weasley crew. She came back for the Order of the Phoenix, but she really needed to take baby streps before she got sucked into this world again. 

Emmeline felt much less fear the second time around, but the unanswered questions loomed over her. What if something happened to her, or Bill, or anyone in this group, Emmeline already felt responsible. She’d been of the originals in what Dumbledore called the “old crowd” because he went to her when this idea popped in his head. He considered Emmeline family. He had a brother, Aberforth, of course. The old man stayed with his people. When Nicolas Flamel and his wife passed in the summer of 1992, he’d walked the streets with her for hours and hours. 

“Sophie doesn't even know you’re in the Order. Neither does Léo.” Sirius, who had ben sitting quietly watching these unfold. took a shot in the dark because he had nothing to base this on. Emmeline stopped, surprised he recalled Sophie’s name. Had he picked it up tonight and remembered he’d seen her? Emmeline nodded. “That’s not right.” “It’s not right You-Know-Who is still a problem,” said Emmeline, deciding she waited to keep her family at a save distance. Grindelwald had been a problem until Dumbledore confronted that problem and put it to rest. He’d shared details with her grandmother that Emmeline didn't know, for the old woman had taken secrets to her grave. She almost said Voldemort because Professor Dumbledore told her to always run towards a problem. Address things by their proper names and drop the nonsense of sugar coating things in an effort to make them sound more pleasing to the ear. “None of this is right.” 

Bill drummed his fingers on the table. He mentioned, too, that she wasn’t always like this. What had happened to that Emmeline? Emmeline didn't care to open herself up. Before they had joined the Order way back in the day, she and Gideon saw themselves more like close friends than man and wife. Emmeline owed the truth, the story to Bill, maybe Charlie. One Prewett twin had thankfully not survived the other. Emmeline couldn’t live with herself if the two best friends and not left the world the same way they’d entered it. 

“Molly.” She wished to put this to bed as she drafted an owl to Lėo. 

“It’s all right,” said Molly, accepting pictures of Emmeline’s children as a consolation prize. She wanted to meet them. They exchanged photographs like trading cards. She nodded at Bill. “When you go France with your aunt tomorrow, you them I love them. I have a box of birthday cards for Sophie at the Burrow. They are on the dressing table. You get them to her.” 

“Okay.” Bill grinned at Emmeline; he stayed at the Burrow so he could feel like he enjoyed his private place whilst they stayed with Sirius. He hugged his parents, said good night to the others, and pecked Emmeline on the cheek. “I love you. Nice to have you back, madame. We should hang out. Charlie’s going to go mad.” 

“Yes. It’s good to be back.” Emmeline patted him awkwardly on the back of the neck and handed him her silver lighter. “This isn't a Deluminator. Consider it on loan from a recipient of Nicolas Flamel.” “The Nicolas Flamel?” Bill switched the lighter and played with its purple flame. It switched colors like transmutation. Bill pocketed it and winked at Sirius and Molly. “I’m the favorite.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. What'd you think?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of my other piece "Give Up the Ghost" because there were flaws. This was written for Dossy Vilja's Wizards Around the World Challenge. Hope you like it. Any review or critique would be awesome.


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